Xenocracy

Planetary Administrator Leonalle Yvesk’s assistant, a
much younger Gallente woman named Colasa, trotted up and matched his pace as he
disembarked from the passenger tram. Yvesk sighed vocally. As they made their
way up the ramp to street level, flowing along with the crowd of other laborers
and urban professionals commuting to work during the morning hours, she
remained silent. Only when they had emerged into the open and separated from
the majority of the other pedestrians did she venture to initiate conversation.

“Good morning,” she began. “I hope you’re well today.”
She had a polite but submissive demeanor he usually appreciated. It had taken
him almost fifty years to climb to his position as the highest authority on
Chesiette Prime, the first planet of the Chesiette system, a thriving temperate
world with just over a billion inhabitants. Because of its position near the
border between the Gallente Federation and Amarr Empire, the planet was important
– on paper. In reality, the efficiency of Federation politics, combined with
their peace-oriented foreign policy, had rendered many of his duties
unnecessary, resulting in his being regarded by many officials as a glorified
middle manager instead of a frontier diplomat.

Today, however, he found her meek, subservient manner frustrating.
He was on his way to a meeting he had been dreading all month, one that he had
no experience with, and despite the fact that it was finally a duty in line
with his diplomatic training, he was exceedingly nervous. “What is it, Colasa?”

“I have the report you asked for on carbon compound
dispersion patterns on the southern continents.” She fumbled with a small case
as they walked, almost colliding with several people moving in the opposite
direction.

Yvesk stared straight ahead as he walked. “Very good.”

Frowning, Colasa tucked the case back under her arm and
hustled to keep up with him. “Can I ask why you seem so upset, Administrator Yvesk?”
She didn’t wait for him to reply before adding: “Does it have something to do
with the capsuleer?”

Yvesk stopped abruptly and grabbed her arm, drawing a
startled look from his young assistant. He glanced around and shot dirty looks
at all the people watching, their attentions instantly focused on the two after
the last word she had spoken aloud. “I think it would be best,” he hissed, “if
we kept such topics in private discussion.” When he was certain that his point
had been made, as was evident by the paleness of her face, he released her and
stormed off.

Nodding quickly, Colasa averted her eyes. From that point
until they arrived at the conference building, she stayed a step behind the
administrator, absolutely silent.

* * *

Seated in the largest chair in the observation room, Yvesk
took a few moments to make sure his suit’s collar was perfect before nodding to
Colasa, who was seated at a nearby holographic interface. She ran one hand over
the console’s horizontal sensor, prompting the air above it to waver and
coalesce into a digital readout. Reaching up and tracing one finger across the
insubstantial surface of the screen, she selected the proper communications
channel and turned to look at the far wall, which went entirely black, save for
the blinking symbol in one corner that indicated a connection was waiting for
authorization.

When an image finally appeared, it caught the
administrator off guard. The capsuleer was clearly of Amarr descent, with high
cheekbones and a clean-shaven scalp, but beyond the most obvious features,
little of his face could be discerned. Most of his head was obscured by
cybernetic implants: curved, metallic attachments that spread around his skull
at every angle, completely concealing his eyes, nose, and mouth. Power and
information cables stretched from each implant to somewhere off camera on
either side, making it seem like he was suspended in a spider web instead of
seated comfortably in a starship in orbit high above the planet.

It was only a simulacrum, an image that this person chose to portray of themselves, but it thoroughly unnerved
Yvesk. He caught himself staring at the screen and covered his blunder by
clearing his throat and introducing himself. “Greetings, I am Planetary Admin—”

“Leonalle Yvesk,” interrupted a thundering voice,
reverberating around the room with an unearthly tone. The camera displaying the
man on the screen zoomed in to show only the head and shoulders, his body
twitching subtly whenever he spoke. “I am familiar with your information.”

Yvesk inhaled briefly, scratched the side of his head,
then gestured to Colasa and offered, “This is my assistant, Col—”

“Your associates are not my concern.” Interpreting the
capsuleer’s body language was impossible. After several moments of
uncomfortable silence, the muscles in his neck convulsed briefly - it really was an unnerving illusion - and the
speakers continued his statement. “I am Omvistus.”

The administrator nodded respectfully; his assistant
continued to stare at the vidscreen and chew on her bottom lip absentmindedly. When
it became obvious by the elongated pause in the conversation that the capsuleer
wasn’t going to finish his introduction by clarifying whether the name he had
offered was a first or last, Yvesk moved on to business. “As you can see, sir,
we are fully prepared to begin implementing your production schedule. Our
industrial sector still needs some updates and modifications, but I’m confident
that in just under a year we could—”

“That is too long.” The expressionless face on the screen
twisted slightly, and then the capsuleer’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“I will replace your industrial sector immediately. You have one hour to
evacuate all personnel before the new facilities arrive in their place.”

Yvesk paled visibly as he turned his head slowly to
Colasa, who lunged for the nearest control panel and began sending out frantic
messages. “We’re making preparations immediately, sir. Perhaps if you could—”

“One hour.”

“I must say, sir,” Yvesk began indignantly, “all of this
is highly irregular. If you had just included this in your previous documentation,
we could have prepared adequately.”

The cables attached to Omvistus writhed as his body
convulsed. “Your disquietude is counterproductive. Do I need to replace you?”

Yvesk glanced around and stuttered: “Of course not, sir.”
Licking his lips as he chose his next words, Yvesk tried to change the subject.
“I noticed that you have some ambitious plans for our local spaceport. Would
you care to elaborate?”

Omvistus was motionless for several seconds, and then his
shoulders rose slightly and his voice came through over the channel. “Your
existing spaceport facility was insufficient for my needs.”

“How so?”

“The amount of raw materials that will need to be
transported into orbit is an order of magnitude larger than what your current
facilities are able to support. Additionally, I will be overseeing the
construction of the seventy-two new spaceports my corporation requires, each located
at key intersections across the surface of your world.”

Yvesk could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his
neck and pretended to be rubbing sore muscles to wipe it away. He was relieved
that Colasa was still buried in the computer terminal, desperately trying to
get evacuation notices out to the industrial sector. “Sir,” he began, “while I
appreciate your dedication to the development of Chesiette Prime, I feel it’s
my duty to inform you that the scale of that project is far beyond our
capabilities. Building that many new spaceports would cost more than the total
revenue our planet generates in a year.”

Omvistus twitched. “I have just purchased all of the
required materials to construct the new spaceports and arranged for them to be
delivered within the next six hours. You will prepare for their arrival at
once.”

The sheer amount of currency that had just changed hands
before his very eyes, all in the span of a single heartbeat, left Yvesk
speechless. His mind reeling with the massive numbers, he tried to find his
footing once again. “I… thank you, sir. We’ll make sure the facilities are
properly—”

“You will not be responsible for their assembly; that
process is entirely automated.” The capsuleer’s head twisted to one side and
his disembodied voice added, “All you need do is stay out of the way.”

Colasa was pleading to Yvesk with her eyes, begging for
the order to send out additional evacuation warnings to any citizens who
currently lived or worked in the areas designated for immediate repurposing. She
pointed to her vidscreen terminal, which showed numerous glowing red warnings
all over the spinning image of the planet. The administrator, however, held one
hand up, instructing her to wait. “Omvistus, I must protest at this point. Most
of the coordinates you designated for these additional spaceports are located
in densely populated areas. It’s going to take more than a few hours to
evacuate all those citizens. I demand more time!”

Omvistus was absolutely motionless. “You demand?”

Frowning and leaning closer to the screen to block out
the ambient noise of the city beyond the walls of the room, Yvesk refused to
backpedal on an issue so important. “We’re talking about millions of people
here. I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation,” he growled
his final word, “sir.” He shot an annoyed glance at Colasa when the drone of
something outside reached the point at which it was difficult to hear himself
speak. “We’re going to need at least a week to relocate everyone to unaffected
communities.”

“That sound you’re hearing,” Omvistus replied, “is your
planet’s bombardment siren. You’ve probably never had to pay much attention to
it in the past, seeing as your world is safely under the jurisdiction of CONCORD,
but that is no longer the case.” As he spoke, the back window of the conference
room took on a noticeably red tint, saturating the room in crimson light. “What
you’re seeing now is the targeting laser used to aim my battleship’s six 425
millimeter railgun turrets. At this altitude, the gravity of your planet will
augment the standard launch velocity of each solid projectile to speeds well
beyond operational specifications, enough to obliterate anything within half a
kilometer of the impact site.” Omvistus’s image grew larger on the screen
before he continued.

“Anything between that location and two kilometers from
ground zero will suffer a worse fate, as the antimatter suspended in each shell
escapes its containment field and expands in a random dispersion pattern, colliding
with the ambient normal matter on the ground – buildings, trees, children,
everything. Whatever these particles touch will experience matter
disassociation on an atomic level as, piece by piece, they are reduced to
unidentifiable residual particles.” He paused briefly, and then concluded.

“With a single thought, I can reduce your entire city to
a smoldering crater; the boiling wind rushing in to replace the void left
behind will be laced with dust particles that were once the bodies of everyone
you know and love. Do you understand?”

Yvesk looked down to see one of his hands shaking. He
swallowed hard and, when next he spoke, his voice came out as a raspy whisper. “I…understand.”

“I’m sorry, Administrator Yvesk, but I’m afraid I didn’t
catch your last words. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The red light faded and, for the rest of the afternoon,
the capsuleer spoke and the planetary administrator listened with obedience.